Friday, August 31, 2012


No names, she insisted.  That is okay with you.  You know it could be a set up.  A scam.  But after two emails and a text, you are on your way.

He took out his wallet, removed most of the cash and the credit cards, considered dumping the Driver’s License then realizing it had his previous address, kept it.  In case he got pulled over.

You are driving fast.  Your heart is pounding.  Damn this is exciting.   You could get your head caved in.  Skull shot like a corn-fed steer.  Have to stay alert.  What was that exit again?  Gower?  It’s coming up.  

He was shaking like an infantryman under bombardment as he wrote it: “Going to the following address 6621 Santa Monica Blvd. Apt 2B.”  He propped the note on his keyboard like a tiny grave marker.

The neighborhood isn’t so bad.  You’ve been around here before.  She’s probably an actress.  Maybe she’s going to videotape it.  You don’t want that.   What if it’s a guy?  Just walk right out.  No thank you.

He scanned the listings and one got his attention.   He clicked on it.  There was a photo.   Pretty.  Definitely young.  The caption said all he needed to know.  NSA.   Ready and waiting.  Call now.  

The apartment building is nondescript, faded blue stucco, a rusty fire escape. Like a thousand others in Los Angeles.   Ranchero music blasts from a storefront.    A homeless man laughs at an unspoken joke.

He emailed the pic and to his surprise the phone rang.  A number in the 213 area code.  He picked it up.  Hello?  The female’s voice was delicate but firm.

“6621 Santa Monica Boulevard, Apartment 2B…    

“What’s your name?  How do I..?”

“Fifteen minutes. The door is unlocked.  No talking.”


And the door is unlocked just like she said.  You step inside.  Not too shabby.  The paintings on the wall look like they were done by the resident.  Must be her work – or her boyfriend’s.

You find her in the bedroom.  Facing away, but definitely the girl from the photo.   She’s twenty years younger than you.   Already naked.   Her mocha skin unblemished.  She doesn’t turn to look at you.

After fumbling with the condom you make an attempt.   She rejects any caresses, demands penetration.  As you struggle to be aroused, her flesh pounds against you in frustration.

You struggle to hold her, kiss her, to inhale her scent.   She heaves you off.  Your manhood shriveling in its latex wrapper.  

“Get out!”

You reach.

“Get the FUCK OUT!”

Socks and shirt in hand, he exited the apartment.   Fastening his belt as he descended the stairs. 

The homeless man was still laughing.  The joke now less funny than sad. 


  1. Nice. I like the switching POV. Kept it interesting and fresh. In the end, I felt bad for him.

  2. I usually demand more information after reading something like this, but this one is perfect just the way it is. My lack of knowledge about who they are and why they've each chosen to do this focuses the spotlight on the moment itself.

    In my reply to your comment on my post, I mused that even the briefest intimacies connect us to our humanity. Now this story reminded me that there are also some kinds of touches that isolate us, make us more alone.

  3. I enjoyed reading this. You do a great job capturing his excitement and anticipation and sense of danger, and then the way he's let down and unable to perform. What a great response to the prompt; he prepared for being killed, getting lost, getting robbed, but you can tell he hadn't expected that!

  4. evenstarwen says it so nicely, "there are also some kinds of touches that isolate us, make us more alone."

    And then there's the heat baked into the pieces of yours I've read so far. The desert dryness and unrelenting heat that is like a character. Even in this one, that doesn't have the same flavor as the Phoenix piece, or even as I reread, any specific mention of the weather. I just felt it.

    Well done.

  5. Ooh, nice. I'm not generally a fan of this type of fiction. I think second person pieces are hard to carry off and as a reader, it tends to put me off. That having been said, there is an underlying charm to this that seduces the senses. The shifting POV served to add a film noir sort of flair, drawing the reader into the story instead of pushing them out of it. Very, very well done!